Arm Candy
by Cap'nHoozits
Summary: Meta!Kimblee brings a meta!date to the Brotherhood cast party to cause meta!trouble with his meta!girlfriend, Meta!Lust, with whom he is meta!quarreling. She has a similar meta!idea. Lots of meta!characters featured. Even the dead ones.


**This was for the Livejournal FMA Fic Contest prompt "Strange Pairings." **

**Arm Candy**

With a soft crunch of gravel, the taxi rolled to a stop at the front of the Armstrong mansion. A sleek gentleman in white tie attire emerged from one side of the taxi and stepped around to the other. He paused as he glanced up toward the wide open doorway of the mansion with a cunning half-smirk. The door of the taxi opened and slammed into his backside, making him stumble forward. He allowed himself a moment of murderous intent, then smoothed his features into a blandly genteel smile before turning around.

The blonde grinned up at him. "Oops!"

He gave her an indulgent look. "I _was_ going to open the door for you."

Martel swiveled around, bringing her open toe pumps to rest on the ground. She made a little theatrical throat-clearing sound and elegantly extended her hand. Solf rolled his eyes and helped her lever herself out of the car. With a brief look of genuine concern, she wobbled a little, then mastered her balance.

She gave a little breathy laugh. "Wow. I'm not used to these shoes."

Solf gave her a commiserative sneer. "Well, nothing says hot mess like red platforms." He extended his elbow. "Shall we knock 'em dead?"

Martel linked her arm through his. "Badda-boom."

They mounted the steps toward the front door which framed the brightly lit interior, putting the dark of the evening into sharper contrast. There were quite a lot of steps.

"Damn, this place is big!" Martel murmured, tilting her head back to try to take in the massive front aspect of the mansion.

"It was the only place big enough to accommodate an ensemble this size," Solf explained. "Haven't you ever been here before?"

Martel gave a very inelegant snort. "Dude. Seriously?"

Solf shrugged. "My mistake."

They stepped through the doors and Martel gazed around at the lavishly appointed foyer. A liveried footman approached them. "May I take your coats?"

"Thank you." Solf turned so the man could take his overcoat from his shoulders. The footman then turned expectantly to Martel, who pulled her mohair shawl from her shoulders, revealing a white trashy diva dress splashed with a cherry print. Solf considered that all she needed was a hair band with a big red bow on her head to complete the look. She would have been so charmingly gauche.

Taking her arm again, he led her up one of the massive curving staircases to the ballroom on the second floor. Solf tried not to look too gleeful as they entered the enormous hall. So many heads turned! And did it just get a little quieter? He glided slowly toward the center, not paying much attention to his date—she had her own agenda—and not trying to obviously search the room. There was plenty of time, and he wanted to savor these moments of capturing everyone's gaze. He caught whispers of _what's he doing with her_ or _what's she doing with him_ or _didn't you hear_ or _omygod no way_. It sent chills up his spine.

"You see 'em yet?" Martel muttered darkly under her breath.

"All in good time, sweetheart," Solf replied quietly. "We don't want to look desperate, after all."

"Yeah, like we haven't done _that_ already."

"Solf!" Alex's voice boomed from across the hall. He strode up to them. "So glad you could make it!"

Solf let Alex pump his hand. "Well, you know…" he murmured modestly. "Noblesse oblige."

"Ho ho!" Alex slapped him on the back. "You're so full of shit, Solf!"he chortled jovially. He turned to Martel and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. "Nice to see you, dear! Loved your death scene!"

Martel dimpled. "Thanks!"

_Mine was so much more spectacular_, Solf thought. But since it went without saying, he didn't say it. He snagged a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Martel. Over the rim of his glass, he scanned the room, which wasn't easy. It was a big room. There were those Elric boys (everybody's sweethearts, Solf thought uncharitably). There were some of the Ishvalans, babbling in their incomprehensible language. Over there was Olivier Armstrong, relating some sort of lurid story to a group of her Briggs crew who hung on her every word. But he didn't catch a glimpse of who he was actually looking for. It would be a dismal state of affairs if he went through all this without being able to put her pretty little nose out of joint.

At one end of the hall, couples glided around the dance floor as a small combo played _People Will Say We're In Love_.

"_Don't throw bouquets at me_…" Solf sang softly. "How about bricks?"

"Knives," Martel added.

"Anvils," Solf agreed.

"Well, hello, you…two…" Roy approached them, his benevolent leading man smile only just hiding his bewilderment. He considered Solf's formal attire. "You know, this was a come-as-you-are party."

Solf lifted an eyebrow in a way that suggested the God of Obvious could smite Roy and he would still be looking around wondering where that came from. "This is as I am."

Roy just shook his head and turned to Martel. "So…I kind of thought you'd be here with, you know…" He tilted his head toward a corner of the ballroom where a burst of baritone laughter could be heard, followed by feminine giggles.

Martel pointedly avoided looking in that direction. "Yes, well," she replied stiffly. "He snoozes, he loses."

"Oh." Roy managed a small, awkward grimace. "Sorry."

"Don't be!" Martel assured him with forced brightness. "I could find a—"

Solf suddenly snatched her drink from her and tossed it to one of the waiters. Then he grabbed her arm. "Let's dance!"

She nearly stumbled as he hauled her out onto the dance floor. "Solf, I can't run in these shoes!" she growled between her teeth.

He pulled her to him and swayed to the music. "I thought you were a little more limber than that. Aren't you part snake or something?"

"Snakes don't wear four-inch heels."

Solf had already stopped listening to her. Still clutching her in his arms he sidled across the path of some of the others dancers and slammed into another couple. There was some grunting and a few hissed curses, and Solf glanced over his shoulder with a smile.

"_Awfully_ sorry!" he apologized with utter insincerity. "Didn't even watch where I was going! I'm so distracted by the gorgeous creature I have in my arms!"

The brunette he had collided with pushed a displaced lock of hair out of her face. Lust considered Solf as though he were something unpleasant she found stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

"Oh."

Solf waited for her to say something else. She didn't. She just turned back to her dance partner, whose head just about reached her bust, which seemed to make him rather happy. He spared Solf a withering glance.

"Is this man bothering you, scrumptious?" Yoki inquired grandly. "Would you like me to deal with him?"

Lust simply smiled, as though actually contemplating the little man's suggestion. Even Solf thought it would be funny as hell, and he let out an unguarded snicker. Lust gave him a sharp look and had to purse her lips to not weaken and let out her own laugh. For a moment, their eyes met, and Solf's smile grew in breadth and wickedness. They were simply too much on the same wavelength.

"Would you, Yoki-kins?" Lust purred, her eyes still locked on Solf's.

Yoki looked suddenly stricken, but he cleared his throat and manfully hooked his thumbs behind his lapels. "You, sir," he squeaked up at Solf, "are a cad and a bounder and I will have satisfaction! I'll meet you outside!"

Solf stepped closer and stared down at him. "Excuse me?"

"No, Yoki, honey!" Lust said in a smoky voice. "Do it here, so I can watch!"

"Oh…uh…" Yoki jibbered as he took a step back. He stared frantically at Lust and whispered in a tight hiss, "I was just gonna take him outside and slip him a twenty!"

Lust pouted with disappointment, not at Yoki's cowardice but at his ignorance. "Oh, sweetie, he's not _that_ cheap!"

Solf's eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise and he beamed warmly at her. "That's probably the nicest thing you've said about me all week!"

Lust wrinkled her nose at him and drew a finger along his jawline. "Well, it's true, darling. Even the nasty things I say about you are true."

Solf captured her hand and kissed it. "You've got me there."

The band started up a tango, and after exchanging smoldering looks, they slid out to the middle of the dance floor.

Martel stood staring after them, utterly dumbfounded. She lifted her arms and dropped them. "Son of a bitch!" she said to herself.

Yoki just watched them sourly for a few moments. "Hmph!" he declared finally. He sighed and turned to Martel, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "So. Here we are."

"No, here _you_ are." She turned and stormed off with as much dignity as her heels would allow.

She hadn't gone far before she bumped into a solid object. She stumbled back a little and looked up into Greed's face. He frowned at her quizzically. "What was all that about?" he asked.

Martel studied his face for a few moments. He wasn't jealous. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even a little perturbed. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets. He was just curious.

"My date just dumped me," Martel declared, hoping that might get some sort of reaction.

"Mm," Greed mused. "Maybe you should be a little more particular." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Dolcetto and Roa and the fellas are about to hit the buffet if you wanna hang with them."

_Hang with_ them, Martel thought bitterly. _Not with_ you. She sighed. "I'm not hungry right now."

Greed shrugged. "Suit yourself. Even I gotta admit, that spread looks pretty sumptuous." He gave her a quick wink. "Catch you later."

"Yeah. Later." Martel watched his back as he sauntered off, back to his bimbos. She had half a mind to just leave, but she had gotten this dress just for this occasion, and it would be kind of a waste. She wandered through the room, nodding distractedly as some of her fellow cast members greeted her.

"Hey, Miss Martel!" a bright young voice called out.

She looked up and smiled as Alphonse approached her. He was holding hands with his leading lady, Mei. "This is a great party, isn't it!" he remarked.

She smiled back at them. They looked like such a nice couple. "Yeah, it's great. It's open bar, isn't it?"

Alphonse looked a little blank. He wasn't quite drinking age yet. "I think so."

Mei pointed toward a large arched doorway. "I saw a lot of people coming out of there carrying glasses."

Martel looked where she was pointing. "Thanks. If anybody's looking for me, that's where I'll be."

She headed for the doorway and entered the dining room. Along one long wall was a buffet of staggering proportions, attended by at least twenty servers who were tirelessly replacing empty platters with full ones.

Martel ignored the solid food and headed toward the bar, which wasn't quite so long, but it was a real bar with stools and everything and it looked well stocked. She ordered a Stoli Sticki and knocked it back, then leaned her elbows on the counter. The bartender looked at her expectantly and she pushed the glass toward him. "I'll have another one."

"It's a little early to be hitting the straight stuff, isn't it?" a deep voice said behind her.

She looked over her shoulder and managed a halfhearted smile. "Oh. Hey."

Scar took the stool next to her. As the bartender set another chilled vodka in front of Martel, the Isvhalan said, "I'll have a Manhattan on the rocks, no cherry."

While the bartender mixed the cocktail, Scar turned back to the blonde chimera. "So what was that all about, anyway?" At least he asked with a lot more concern in his voice.

Martel lifted a shoulder. "Nothing I'm not gonna feel really stupid about for the rest of my life." She sipped at her drink. "You know, I really thought me and Greed had something, you know? But I guess I'm just one of the _fellas_." She pulled a face. "Either that, or I'm everybody's little sister."

"Not everybody's, surely."

She gave the big Ishvalan a sidelong glance and a little smile. A typical anti-hero, he was a real sweetheart. Too much guilt in his backstory, though. There was only so much a girl could compete with.

"Okay, Mr. Smarty-Pants-With-A-Tortured-Past. Name me one."

Scar picked up his drink and got off his barstool. He gave a beckoning nod of his head. "Come here."

Not having anything better to do, Martel followed him through the dining room to a table near a window. At it were two other Ishvalans. One of them was Scar's Brother, whose name was actually Eddie, which was short for something unpronounceable in Ishvalan. He looked up and waved as Scar and Martel approached the table. Martel recognized the other Ishvalan from one of the OVAs. He was younger than the brothers, and he had a very earnest look about him, like he took things seriously.

As soon as he saw Martel, his eyes widened and he stood up. This startled her at first, until she realized that he was just being polite. That was so cute!

"Martel, this is my friend, Heathcliff Arbor," Scar said. "Heathcliff, this is Martel, from Episode Thirteen."

"Yes, I know!" Heathcliff blurted out. He immediately looked embarrassed and he cleared his throat. "I mean…I…enjoyed your…um… work, Martel," he stammered. It was a little hard to tell if an Ishvalan was blushing, but it looked pretty obvious on him. He managed to meet her eyes again. "I loved your death scene!"

"Thanks. Yours was pretty good, too." Martel gave a little chuckle. "Nice head shot!"

Heathcliff shrugged modestly. "Thanks!" He smiled like a smitten teenager. "That's a really pretty dress!"

Martel smiled back at him, feeling a bit teenagey herself and not noticing the congratulatory look the two brothers gave each other.


End file.
